


S is for Secrecy

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Fortune Favour Me [26]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, who cares,” Eilin snapped, wrenching her hand out of her mother’s grip. “I know you understand,  you just don’t want to admit it. I thought you of all people would know -- what did you do in the rebel army, after all -- cook their meals?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	S is for Secrecy

“Fergus put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Eilin had seen Mother angry and disappointed plenty in her lifetime, usually after she’d pulled a prank (like the time she rigged a bag of flour over the kitchen door) or made a blunder (being caught brawling by the King himself). The years had softened her expression into a resigned sort of exasperation, and that was a good sign, Eilin thought as she stood before her parents in the main hall. Exasperation she could work with.

 

“I did not,” Fergus said, his tone tempered somewhat by suppressed laughter. He put his arm around Oren, who was sitting on his lap, and cast a glance at Oriana. “I swear to the Maker, I didn’t. Really.”

 

“He didn’t,” Eilin added. She’d removed her helmet so her hair fell about her shoulders, clinging to the grime on her breastplate and her sweaty skin. “It was my idea entirely.”

 

Bryce raised an eyebrow at his son. “Did you know about it?”

 

Fergus had the grace to look sheepish. “Yes. She made me swear not to tell upon pain of dismemberment.”

 

“A seventeen year old girl threatened you and you listened to her?”

 

“A seventeen year old girl who just won third place in our biggest tournament in five years,” Eilin piped up helpfully.

 

“Come here,” Eleanor sighed, and took her daughter’s hands to draw her closer. “What am I going to do with you?”

 

“You could be proud of me,” Eilin said seriously. “Twenty knights in that tournament and I beat almost all of them. Until one of them beat me.” She thumbed at her nose, wiping fresh blood onto her glove.

 

“We are proud of you,” Eleanor replied, and patted her cheek. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Your father and I are impressed, darling. We just...disagree with your methods.”

 

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have kicked that last one in the arse, but I couldn’t resist.”

 

“Like,” Eleanor replied, “Taking on a pseudonym to enter a tournament our teyrnir sponsored. Bann Kedwin nearly had a heart attack when he found out.”

 

“So?”

 

“So,” Bryce said patiently, “Having our own daughter enter this tournament -- under a false name,” he added loudly as Eilin opened her mouth to protest, “Under a false name, my girl. That is the problem here. Is there a reason why you did so?”

 

Eilin fidgeted impatiently, chewed on her lip and glanced away. Finally she shrugged. “I wanted to beat them in a fair fight.”

 

Her parents’ expressions softened. They understood, she knew. Fereldan nobles were not untouchable like in other countries, but there was still a certain degree of separation -- that, and men’s unfortunate tendency to treat women like straw dolls.

They understood, but that didn’t get her out of it. Eleanor shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I know you did,” she said in an even tone. “But the implications -- “

 

“Oh, who cares,” Eilin snapped, wrenching her hand out of her mother’s grip. “I know you understand,  you just don’t want to admit it. I thought you of all people would know -- what did you do in the rebel army, after all -- cook their meals?”

 

“Enough.”

He didn’t shout, but it was Bryce’s quiet tone that finally silenced her. He looked disappointed, she thought, and was surprised to find that realisation stung, even at her age.

Her father covered Eleanor’s hand with his. Mother looked upset, Eilin realised with another pang of shame; her eyes glittered in the dim light, though her face was hard. Even Fergus looked serious.

 

“My son,” Bryce continued, his gaze still focused on Eilin. “Bann Kedwin is waiting in the hall.”

 

The creak of Fergus’s chair echoed loud enough to make Eilin wince. She dared not look away as her brother left with his family in tow. She dared not look away at all. The war wasn’t something they ever talked about on principle; all she knew came from her history books.

 

It never seemed real until that moment; until the look her mother gave her.

 

The silence made her fidget. Eilin shuffled back and forth, her boots making loud scraping noises on the wooden floor. Her parents said not a word.

“I apologize,” she muttered eventually, the words sounding stiff and forced. “I should not have said that.”

 

“I don’t want you to apologize,” Eleanor said. She raised a hand when Eilin began to speak again. “I want you to understand that you must face the consequences of your actions. Whether it’s entering a tournament under false pretenses, or playing at war -- every action has a consequence.”

Eilin nodded. She knew the lesson; she’d learned it over and over since she was a child. Now was not the time to speak out of turn, so she bit her lip and kept silent.

 

“It’s not a light action, to kill a man,” Eleanor said softly, her fingers clenched white in her lap. “The stories...they never tell you of the look in their eyes.”

 


End file.
